


Night Terrors

by grimcognito



Series: Night Terrors [1]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Blood and Gore (imagined), Gen, M/M, Night Terrors, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-24 23:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimcognito/pseuds/grimcognito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny has night terrors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Terrors

**Author's Note:**

> Based on my own experiences with night terrors, I make no claim that they are the same for everyone. But I figure with a job like Danny's, he's gotta have some demons lurking around in his mind.
> 
> Standard Disclaimers Apply: I do not own Hawaii Five-O, this is a work of fiction that makes no profit and is made for fun.

Waking up is like a punch to the chest, sudden and painful in its intensity. Danny’s awake, but he’s not aware, still stuck in his dream as he stares up at his ceiling. The grinding whirr of an electric saw drowns out any other sound, even when he knows it’s all in his head. An old case long since solved and the fucker who did it all was rotting away in a cell with an ocean between them, but those facts don’t matter in his own mind.

It’s like he’s trapped in two worlds at once, knowing one of them isn’t real, yet he can’t escape. It doesn’t happen often, but the night terrors don’t get any less terrifying, no matter how many times he’s had the same one. 

He can’t move, can’t breathe. If he turns he’ll see them; every victim he hadn’t been able to save, their bodies reduce to piles of butchered flesh, blood-soaked and still warm. He can’t move, because then He’ll know Danny’s there, and it will be him next, soon to be just like all the others. ‘He’ is more than a person, He is Danny’s every fear wrapped up in the shape of a shadowy figure, lurking at the edges of his vision. 

Terror constricts his chest and he can’t breathe, wanting to gasp for air, but He’ll hear, and Danny can’t let Him hear. In the part of his mind that’s still rational, Danny knows none of it is real, that there’s no one here with him in the room. There are no bodies piling up on the floor, no pools of blood for him to slip in if he tries to stand. But it’s not enough, not nearly enough to overpower what the rest of his mind is absolutely positive of. 

He knows, he can feel it in his bones, He’s in the room, looming over him, waiting for Danny to so much as twitch. Danny won’t, he can’t even work up the courage to make his eyes move to look. If he looks, he’ll see it’s all real, and so he lays frozen. He can hear the tick of his bedside clock, each click louder than the last until he can barely stand it, but he can’t look, he can’t because he’s too afraid of what he might find. 

Some time later, hours, minutes, he can’t fucking tell because he can’t keep track of the ticking past a few seconds, and his knee is aching like all hell. He’s too tense and that’s not helping things at all, but later, when his eyes are dry because he won’t let himself blink—he can’t, he just can’t risk the slightest movement—he begins to breathe easier. 

His rational mind is finally leaking through the nightmare. He takes a slow, deep breath, scraping together every ounce of courage he can find within himself, and throws himself from the bed. He catches himself in a crouch, eyes darting around the room for any sign of a threat, absently pushing his toes into the carpet to convince himself that no, it’s not wet and there’s no blood to step in. Nothing, there’s nothing but the faint sound of chirping bugs and the occasional car passing by. 

Danny’s gasping, covered in a sheen of cold sweat and shaking. There’s no possibility of sleep tonight, not matter how exhausting their last case had been. At least he lived alone now, there was nothing worse, nothing in the universe, than when he was stuck in a night terror where his whole family had been slaughtered as he slept. When he would be too scared to glance at Rachel sleeping next to him because in his mind she was carved open, spread out over the sheets and staining them red. The way he could only lie there as he imagined Grace’s lifeless body in her bed down the hall. 

He couldn’t scream, couldn’t make a single sound when he was caught in the crushing hold of his night terrors, so he would lie there, tears streaking his face as he prayed it was all just a dream. When he came back to reality, he would carefully climb out of bed and check on Grace, just stand and watch her breathe peacefully for a few minutes before moving to his study to work on something. It didn’t matter what, as long as he didn’t go back to bed. 

Sometimes, Rachel had woken up when he had, and could pull him out of it, gently shaking him from the clutches of his own mind. Most of the time, he’d just had to wait it out. Now, he didn’t have anyone to check up on, no one to reassure him that everything really was alright. He couldn’t call Grace, not at—he checked the clock—two thirty in the morning, and Rachel wasn’t his wife anymore. 

He can’t shake the feeling though, he needs something to anchor him and drags a shaking hand over his face, gritting his teeth against the broken noise rising in his throat. He fumbles on the nightstand for his cell, nearly dropping it as he scrolls through his contacts with unsteady fingers. Pressing Steve’s name with only a moment’s hesitation, he can’t help but feel a sting of guilt for waking him up at such an hour, but he had to hear a voice, someone’s voice. Steve’s voice. 

The wall is cool as he slides to his butt and leans against it, listening to the rings—one, two, three—and then a mostly alert voice. “Danny? Something wrong?” 

Danny clutches the phone to his ear, his breath escaping him in a rush of air and muscles relaxing as Steve’s voice washes over him. It’s exactly what he needs and not enough at the same time. 

“Steve.” It’s all he can get out, barely more than a whisper, and he can hear rustling as Steve’s voice takes on an urgent tone, “Danny, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” 

“No. No, I’m not hurt. I just needed… I just needed to hear you.” 

Danny presses his forehead to his knees, feeling like an idiot, a needy, twelve-year-old idiot that had to call someone because of a bad dream. Steve doesn’t sound reassured in the slightest, “Where are you? Talk to me, Danno.” 

The nickname does it, pulling him down to earth so he can properly breathe and he tries to make his voice as normal sounding as possible. “It’s okay, Steve. I swear, I just had a hard time sleeping. Sorry for bothering you.” 

The sound of an engine starting has Danny slapping himself in the forehead. Of course Steve would just jump into his car and head over, not that he could blame the guy, what with his strange middle of the night calls and all. “Steve, you don’t need to—” 

“I’ll be there in ten, Danno.” Steve hangs up before Danny can protest, leaving him to stare down at the phone long after the screen goes dark. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

True to his word, Steve’s shows up, looking ready to kick down doors and toss grenades as soon as he can find the excuse to do so. He doesn’t get the chance to knock because Danny’s opening the door even as he hops out of his truck. 

Steve takes one look at Danny and steps in close to wrap him up in a tight hug. Danny manages to hold himself stiff for all of maybe three seconds before giving in and wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist. 

Once he starts hugging, it’s like he can’t get enough of it. He pulls Steve as close as he can, pressing his face into the side of his neck and clutching at the back of his shirt. They must make a ridiculous sight, standing and hugging the stuffing out of each other on the doorstep of Danny’s crappy apartment. It’s a good thing no one is out at this hour to see them.

Steve doesn’t ask, doesn’t push for a reason, just walks them back ward so he can kick the door shut. Danny thinks he should let go soon, pull away and let Steve know he’s all good, but he can’t do it. The feeling of Steve’s warm hand rubbing circles over his back has him slowly relaxing until his death grip is more of a loose hold and he notices Steve’s resting his cheek against his temple. 

This should be awkward, having his work partner hold him like this, it should but it’s not. He thinks maybe, just maybe, with Steve here, all warm and solid and acting crazy at three in the morning just because Danny mentioned having a bad dream, he might just be able to sleep again today.


End file.
